


By Ur Command

by NicoleAnell



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-05
Updated: 2010-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicoleAnell/pseuds/NicoleAnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written based on a prompt from <a href="http://wemblee.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://wemblee.livejournal.com/"><b>wemblee</b></a> in the Never Will I Ever meme, who half-jokingly requested "Baltar and Tigh negotiate the rules of their new D/s relationship", probably not thinking I would actually write it.  References to BDSM.</p>
    </blockquote>





	By Ur Command

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a prompt from [](http://wemblee.livejournal.com/profile)[**wemblee**](http://wemblee.livejournal.com/) in the Never Will I Ever meme, who half-jokingly requested "Baltar and Tigh negotiate the rules of their new D/s relationship", probably not thinking I would actually write it. References to BDSM.

Colonel Tigh wants to be very clear that this not some kind of Sexual Thing, which may be a dangerous way to start things off (considering he was equally vocal about this with the Six, several times, at least once _during_ sex), but Baltar just nods thoroughly. "Yes, of course, Colonel." he says.

"Sir."

"I was under the impression the more formal title was-"

"_Sir,_" he repeats in a slightly more urgent growl.

"Sir," Baltar says quickly. "Right, yes. Fine." He takes a brief pause to show he is totally fine just letting it go, before pushing ahead with an awkward laugh. "I think -- this is funny, this is just for me actually -- I think maybe *I* would, you know, like to use 'Colonel' sometimes -- just sometimes. Hardly ever, really, once in a while, I- we might switch it up and use Colonel instead. That would be... that'd be fine, wouldn't it?"

Tigh gives him an appraising and just slightly irritated look through his one eye. Baltar wonders if he had to practice such things in front of a mirror. To get it right, you know, with the eye. "Sometimes," Tigh repeats like a warning.

"Rarely! You won't even notice," Baltar promises, then pointedly adds "Sir" with a small wink.

"This isn't a sexual thing," Tigh feels compelled to say again.

"No, I know, that was- certainly not, Colonel. I think you'd, uh, be well aware."

Tigh gives a small nod of his head and makes a _hunh_ noise. He's pretty sure he can hear Caprica laughing at him, which is not a metaphor because she is in fact sitting on the desk chair five feet away. Although she's not truly laughing at him; she's mainly laughing because she can't imagine this going anything like the way things did with D'Anna. She hasn't felt this necessary in a room in ages.

Baltar has adjusted rather quickly and eagerly to the uniform. Caprica won't wear it, finds the costume not elegant enough. She preferred her slinky dresses and jewelry, and later... well, later preferred just to be comfortable and not looked at so much. Any outfit that came with a prescribed set of rules and expectations seemed dangerously like infiltration, like treason again. But Gaius is very taken with Saul's, and his own. He remembers his initial sense of pride and belonging in the double tanks, when he was first setting out for Kobol, before the actual combat trauma kicked in. He finds there is a special, intense enjoyment that comes from carrying out these roles, without the pesky details like genuine military experience or lifetime commitment to serve or the ability to get out of his bed before 11:00.

The XO tells him to stand straight and evenly, to keep his hands still and not twitch so frakking much, fidgety son of a bitch. It's euphoric.

Much of it is real training, or an approximation of it. Gaius wants to operate a rifle without looking like a child who's found his way into grandma's arsenal. To hold it like it's loaded and ready to keep all the bad men away from his food and his women. He doesn't like forced exercise particularly well, though -- and oddly, Tigh soon realizes, this is all more about giving him what he likes than anything -- so after 15 or so push-ups, he prefers to spend the rest of his time just laying face-down and getting yelled at for being a failure and such. Tigh discovers this is something he excels at. (Then again, words like _collaborator_ seep in occasionally, and even words like _toaster-lover_, the irony of which doesn't trip him up until it's three-quarters out of his mouth.)

The other game they have is court-martial. Gaius does not like it as much, because shackles are uncomfortable and prison was awful, but every relationship has sacrifices, and this one begins and ends with Caprica teasing the outline of his pants and declaring, "Do everything he says." There are questions, and when he gets the right answers, Tigh brings a glass of water to his mouth, which is the closest he's come to touching him in any way. (Caprica never lets him _hit_ unless it's sporadic, a special occasion. And Tigh sure as hell won't do anything pleasant to him, he insists, because all this crap with the shackles and the hierarchy and Caprica deciding which of them to frak afterwards is not some sick sexual kink or anything.)

Oh, and Baltar is finicky about sleeping arrangements. He takes the far side of the door next to Caprica as a distant _second_ option to the middle, promising not to put a hand on Tigh but involuntarily breaking that promise when he's sleeping and flailing his arms in any direction that might have someone to hold onto. But anyway, Tigh clocks him for this -- it's the kind of special occasion he's pretty sure Six was referring to -- and Baltar rouses the half-awake energy to pull away and murmur "Sorry, Colonel," before drifting back asleep.


End file.
